


plural, actually

by totalsafety



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Multi, OT3, also oolong tea is known to be stress+anxiety relieving so love yourself and drink oolong, let's get some DEEP FRIENDSHIP IN HERE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27953693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totalsafety/pseuds/totalsafety
Summary: Gansey doesn't know how to deal with Adam, but Ronan does, and that's a bit uncomfy for our President Cell Phone. Spoiler: it's ok, Gansey is ok, everyone is ok. They just be learning :")
Relationships: Richard Gansey III/Adam Parrish, Richard Gansey III/Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Kudos: 39





	plural, actually

Ronan and Gansey watch as Adam kicks his car’s tire. Plural, actually. After the two right ones have adequately suffered, Adam stomps to the other side to give the other two their fair share.

“What happened?” Gansey asks.

“He’s mad because you’re going to the ball without him.”

“I don’t even want to go. It’s—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ronan cuts. “You’re going. Without. Him.”

Gansey slowly chews his mint leaf and swallows. “Are you mad?”

Ronan glances over, and they lock gazes before sharing a smile, one wicked and the other comforting. “He also got a speeding ticket.”

At this, Gansey startles. “Where?”

“Coming back from The Barns. I dared him. Cop was waiting just when he _really_ started going for it.”

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” Gansey mutters. Ronan takes little notice, cooing to Chainsaw perched on the window ledge. She ruffles before hopping to the other window, the one further away from both of them and closer to Gansey’s collection of shiny trinkets.

“Don’t pay for the ticket,” Ronan says, sneering at Chainsaw. “He’ll hate that.”

“I’m not stupid. What else can we do?”

“Get him another rich, pompous Dick with a faster car?”

“That’s disrespectful. You know which part,” Gansey continues before Ronan can ask.

“Just give him The Pig until you come back. A piece of you to keep close.”

“So you can drive it?”

“I won’t,” Ronan says, his intensity drawing Gansey’s full attention. “He needs it too much.”

Gansey turns away, only enough to tug on a mint leaf growing from the new pot Blue made him. It’s a little too tall, and, given the thickness, he’ll probably have to put it closer to the radiators come winter. As he tilts his head, he realizes this is vase. Blue gave him a vase, and he put a mint plant in it. Then, Gansey remembers all the times he gave Adam something, and all the times Adam saw it for something else entirely. He thinks of how careful he’s been, how much energy and time he invests in the upkeep of Adam’s integrity. He remembers a particularly frustrating argument, untainted by the hours before since it was successful day otherwise. He remembers how quickly the mood turned against him, how it felt like he was falling down a mountain he didn’t recall climbing, or even approaching. Most of all, Gansey remembers what Adam said.

 _I can’t be like you, and you hate me for it_. It was farthest from the truth. Gansey wishes he had the words to tell Adam then, but he can’t even find the words now, weeks later. Even so, he remembers the way it felt. He remembers expecting a sharp pain, maybe the equivalent of heartbreak, or what he imagines it to be. Instead, there was a sinkhole. Plural, actually. The big one for his heart, of course, but smaller ones too. One in his stomach, where he desperately clawed through the depths for the right words to say. One in his head, where a migraine was already beginning to bloom with the spiraling buzz of damage control, how to fix this, how to soothe, how to mitigate a problem that only exists in someone else’s head. However, these sinkholes were old friends, familiar and not so worrying. The worst of it were the sinkholes spreading along his ribcage. Small, but plural. This was his greatest fear come to life— Adam opening his heart, and Gansey not knowing how to take out the spikes lining the edges.

He could say it was because there was too many, or because he didn’t know what spikes were, let alone what to do with them, let alone how to remove them. But his other best friend was Ronan, an engineer of spikes. Maybe that’s why Ronan knew exactly what to say, why he knew leaving Gansey’s Camaro with Adam would dull any sharpness. Regardless, Gansey wanted to learn too. He craved it, but no matter how hard he tried, he just seemed to sharpen the spikes rather than nullifying them in any way.

Gansey looks back to Ronan, watching Adam as well as he can through the dirty, albeit large, Monmouth window. He finds a drop of jealousy, how easily Ronan knew what would make this all better, how quickly Ronan took Adam’s shoulders on that day and, later, somehow, steered him towards an apology Gansey didn’t feel he deserved. He’s already running the angles when he receives a quick tap on the cheek, too fast and light to be considered a slap. He’s so surprised he leans off balance, and Ronan catches him by the shoulders.

“Don’t wish you understood. You’re lucky to not understand.” Ronan pauses, squeezing Gansey’s shoulders tightly. “You are so fucking lucky to not understand. Remember that.”

Gansey waits, and nods. As Ronan lets go, Gansey’s sinkholes begin to fill themselves. Not completely, and certainly not quickly, but at least they’re on their way. They keep watching Adam sulk against the hood of his car, sigh loudly, and finally make his way back to Monmouth. Gansey thinks of spikes and sinkholes, how one extends out while the other drops in. He reminds himself it isn’t important which is which. As Adam comes through the door, Gansey tones down his smile and does his best in pretending to not rush over to the tea shelf.

“Oolong?” Gansey asks.

“Please,” Adam answers before falling face-first into Gansey’s bed. Ronan bites his lip hard to stifle his laugh, and Gansey firmly avoids looking at him to keep from laughing himself. Although, he does allow a private moment of satisfaction. Magicians, feral dreamers, mirrors, dangerous hitmen from the dark corners of the world. People are people, and Gansey reminds himself they have to pull out their own spikes, fill their own sinkholes, and do their best to be there for those who need a little longer to figure it out.

“Can you make me a cup too?” Ronan asks.

“Oolong?”

“I’d prefer ayahuasca.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Ronan chuckles, and nudges Adam. “I know he has some, we’ll find it later.”

“Do NOT go looking through my herbs, Ronan, I swear—”

“Oh, his _herbs._ ”

Adam rolls over, and Gansey is undeniably pleased to see the light back in his eyes. _Spikes, sinkholes, it’s all the same,_ Gansey thinks. _As long as there's someone to bear it with. Plural, actually._


End file.
